


Wake

by themistwolfkid



Series: Warrior's Shadow [2]
Category: Avalon: Web of Magic - Rachel Roberts
Genre: Angst, Minor Character Death, Second-Person Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:31:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themistwolfkid/pseuds/themistwolfkid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was too young for this, like you’re too young to feel this old.  You have too many scars in too many places for someone your age, and she told you so once.  She was too sick for someone so spry, but you never understood when to tell her that, or how.  </p><p>Emily could’ve done better.  Emily would’ve noticed.  You open and close your hand, notice the itch in your neck, anchor yourself to the persistent pain from the bruises you still have from a breakdown two days ago.  </p><p>It’s time to say good-bye for good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake

You stare at the wake and feel distant, roiling nothing.

You think that this is just a dream, because you have those sometimes.  Dreams where everything you love slips through your fingers like mist through a sieve, through your open fingers, through the ribs of the trees and all the dead animals that paved your way here.

You think that, but if you’d listened to your heart, you’d be torn apart by the truth.

It stares you in the face, bright as the sun above your head.  It fits but it doesn’t.  One of the sunniest days you’ve seen in Stonehill, Pennsylvania, and it’s on the day you place your Gran in the ground.

It isn’t _right_.  But it’s the truth.

If you’d cried, it was silently, distantly, haltingly.  It was as though you didn’t have the energy to sob anymore, or lift your fists to beat, or move your legs to run away, or fill your lungs to breathe at all.  You only had the strength left to stare at the wood, like if you stared at it hard enough, it would move.  It would change.  You would wake up, and it would be to Gran smiling at you and patting you on the head, and calling you “Little Wolf,” and the forest wouldn’t feel like it lost half its life.

Your father holds your mother, who leans into him and covers her mouth and cries.  It’s all very quiet, very stoic, very sad.  It’s very lonely, you realize with a weariness you thought you’d walked away from years ago.  Dreamer is next to you, whining softly, but you can’t hear what he’s saying anymore.  you know it must be something comforting, something to clear the fog in your head.  But you can’t hear him at all.

The stone on your wrist sits duller than you’ve ever seen it before.  You imagined it would’ve sent out alpha waves of denial, or at least delta waves of sorrow.  The lack of light makes you wonder if you’re even still there.

She was too young for this, like you’re too young to feel this old.  You have too many scars in too many places for someone your age, and she told you so once.  She was too sick for someone so spry, but you never understood when to tell her that, or how.  

Emily could’ve done better.  Emily would’ve noticed.  You open and close your hand, notice the itch in your neck, anchor yourself to the persistent pain from the bruises you still have from a breakdown two days ago.  

It’s time to say good-bye for good.

You finish putting your flowers in the wake and wonder, not for the first time, if there was some Native American, Cherokee ritual thing you were supposed to do.  You’re so removed, how could you know?  Only Gran would’ve known and now she’s…

Gone.

Your mother tells you, gently, to come away, back to the preserve.  Back to the house.  You brush her off, gently because you have no fight in you, and you try to tell her you’ll meet her there, eventually.  She leaves you be.  She understands.  Does she?

You stand and watch them shovel dirt for a long time, stare at the headstone for longer than you need to.  Then, you put your head to it and stutter a sigh.  It’s warm on your skin.  You’ve been out in the sun a long time, after all.

“I love you, Gran,” you say.  You finger the grass at your hands and stumble on words and inaudible sobs.  “And I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

You turn away, ashamed and tired.  Dreamer follows after you, nudging your hand as you walk.  You touch his fur, sun-warmed and soft.

In the end, you couldn’t do it.

You didn’t have the strength to let her go.

**Author's Note:**

> shows up to the fandom 5 years late with angst
> 
> I swear i'll write something happy when it comes. gran is actually one of my favorite characters, so i will do her justice


End file.
